


Stumble

by ProneToRelapse



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Canon Divergence, Don’t copy to another site, Established Relationship, M/M, Mild angst with a touch of humour, Miscommunication, Post-Game
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-20
Updated: 2019-08-20
Packaged: 2020-09-19 09:57:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20329252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProneToRelapse/pseuds/ProneToRelapse
Summary: Ignis gets fired. Sort of. Promoted, really.





	Stumble

**Author's Note:**

> sneaks in to drop this and then runs
> 
> I’m fully aware I’m late to the party with fics about these two but I’ve finally got enough confidence to start writing about how much these two losers love each other
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

Time was, not much happened in the citadel that Ignis didn’t know about. Of course there were things that Ignis wasn’t technically  _ supposed  _ to know - deeply confidential Kingsglaive business and the Cor-only level secret briefings - but he didn’t usually let that stop him from knowing most of the ins and outs of the court and council. Besides, the way he saw it, if the information wasn’t meant to reach him, then it shouldn’t have been so easy to obtain with only a charmingly unassuming smile and a few occasions of well-timed loitering. 

These days it’s even harder to keep information from him, given that he was personally involved in the selection of every new member of the palace staff. There’s nobody present in the building that Ignis hasn’t vetted himself. No staff or guests or visitors. Not a single soul. 

Or at least, that  _ used _ to be true. 

Because when Ignis lets himself into the King’s chambers in the late afternoon, he hears a voice that he does not recognise. Soft, even and unassuming, but unfamiliar enough that it immediately has him on edge. He pauses, one hand still on the door handle, the other clutching two copies of the same report to his chest, one written and one in braille. (The written one being a more concise and abridged version, as always.)

“My thanks, your Majesty,” the strange voice murmurs graciously and there’s the scraping of chairlegs on marble flooring as both the newcomer and the King stand. 

“I’ll be in touch,” Noctis replies congenially. “Thanks for your time.”

No name is given that can help Ignis begin to decipher this sudden mystery, serving to further perplex Ignis as he listens to Noctis see the stranger out. The pages in Ignis’ grip crinkle slightly as tension tightens his grip. He deeply desires an explanation that he is not entitled to, but he has come to expect a certain amount of  _ trust _ from Noctis with regards to who enters the citadel. He’s earned that much, surely. 

The common-use door to Noctis’ chambers closes signalling the stranger’s departure. Ignis has entered through the chamberlain’s door; an old servant’s route used by no one except him since the light returned. It’s less crowded and runs past all the rooms Ignis requires access to on a daily basis. It’s a godssend for his visual impairment, instead of having to navigate the many corridors of the vast citadel on touch and sound alone. 

Now certain that they are alone, Ignis takes the seven steps from the door to the main lounging area of Noctis’ chambers, finally making his presence known with a soft, “a moment, Noct?”

He hears a faint huff of recognition and an affectionate “Iggy,” which helps to ease some of his previous tension. Noctis makes his approach known with a gentle hand on Ignis’ shoulder. 

“The latest reports from Meldacio,” Ignis says, indicating the reports in his arms. “Local wildlife is reaching acceptable numbers once more. We’re also seeing less and less mutations which is excellent news. Well. The hunters are. I, of course, am not.” He smiles, hoping to coax a laugh from Noctis, but he is met with only the barest of distracted hums as Noctis takes the reports from him.

“Listen, Specs, I need to talk to you.”

“I’m all ears, your Majesty,” Ignis says at once, dutiful, and trying not to outwardly wince. It’s true he enjoys a more relaxed relationship than any other staff member in the citadel, growing up together saw to that. (So did a great many other things, but now is not the time to think on  _ intimacies _ with his King. Even if they’re as recent as this morning…) It’s “your Majesty” in public and “Noct” in private, always has been. Ignis doesn’t mean to revert to respectful titles, but the stranger’s lingering presence and his own sudden tension has him preoccupied. 

Thankfully Noctis doesn’t address Ignis’ momentary relapse. Decidedly  _ less  _ thankfully, he seems to be struggling with what to say next, which has Ignis rocketing up from ‘tense’ to ‘taut enough to snap at a moment’s notice’. 

“Listen,” Noctis says again and then nothing follows except for the faint clicking sounds of his mouth moving and no words coming out. 

“Might this have to do with your previous visitor?” Ignis hedges, aiming for politely curious and - to his own ears - wildly missing the mark. He feels  _ shrill _ . It’s not the best word to describe how he feels but it’s the closest he can get to this awfully unbalanced and tight sensation that has his whole body in a vice. 

“Yeah,” Noctis finally sighs. “That was Evan. He served… Luna’s family. In Tennebrae. Before… Well, before. You know.”

“Ah,” Ignis says, easing a notch down from horrifically tense to uncomfortably tense. “And what did Evan have to say?” It feels wrong to push, but it’s clearly weighing on Noctis as much as it is Ignis. The late Oracle is and most likely will always be a highly sensitive subject for Noctis. Ignis understands and offers what little consolation he can, when he can. Whether Noctis accepts it depends on many different variables Ignis has had to learn the hard way. 

“It’s…” Noctis exhales heavily. “He— Well, no,  _ I  _ was speaking to him about a… potential opening here. A job position.”

“Oh.” Ignis’ knees nearly buckle with relief. Nothing seditious or untoward then. Not that he truly believed it would be. It’s not fair on Noctis for Ignis to get so paranoid about these things, but he tries so  _ hard  _ to keep abreast of all things, to be a dutiful and useful advisor and loyal chamberlain. He’s suffered a severe knock to his confidence since he lost his sight, has tried to stay the same level of indispensable as he was before, though he feels woefully inadequate, and the fear of being replaced is a strong presence in his anxieties. Though he knows rationally and certainly, deep down in his bones, that Noctis never would.

That weight finally off his shoulders, Ignis permits himself to sit in one of the armchairs he knows is only three steps to his right. “I wasn’t aware we had a need to fill a vacancy. Or a vacancy  _ to  _ fill, for that matter.”

Noctis laughs uncomfortably and Ignis hears cushions shift as Noctis slumps down in his own chair. “Not… I mean, it’s not  _ definite _ . It’s just… Um… It’s like, an option. If the role goes— If the position, uh, becomes available.”

Ignis allows himself a small smile, finally understanding of Noct’s hesitancy. Bless him. “It’s alright, Noct, you can be honest, I won’t mind. Who’s the unlucky staff member whose job is on the line, then? I promise I’ll not be hurt that my diligent and careful selection did not, apparently, pass the approval of the King.” His voice is light, teasing, but Ignis is a  _ little _ disappointed that there is someone who’s poor work ethic has managed to stick out to  _ Noctis  _ of all people. Especially before it came to Ignis’ attention at all. 

“Oh, this is  _ torture _ ,” Noct mumbles, surprising Ignis by the pained lilt to his muttered complaint. 

“What—“

“It’s yours, Iggy,” Noct says with great exasperation, the words coming out in a rush. “I was talking to Evan about taking him on as my chamberlain.”

Once, back when Ignis was newly blind and still learning how to navigate the dangerous dark, he got caught in the stomach - full force - by the shaft of Aranea’s lance during a sparring match. The blow had sunk him to his knees with speed and had him retching until long after his stomach had reflexively emptied itself. 

One a scale from one to ten - ten being Aranea’s lance to the stomach - this feels like a resounding fifteen. 

  
  
  
  


“I fucked up,” Noctis says for the twentieth time in as many minutes. Gladio has long since stopped bothering to respond, possibly somewhere around “ _ I fucked up _ ” number four, he’s not entirely sure. He turns the page of his book, briefly glancing up over the top of it to watch Noctis pace another anxious circle around his living room. 

“I fucked  _ up, _ ” Noctis says again, hands in his hair, pulling lightly. “He’s never gonna speak to me again. I’ve never seen him move that fast out of combat. Gladio, I fucking  _ broke him. _ ”

“Sure did,” Gladio mutters, bringing the book closer to his face as the plot thickens. 

Noctis carries on his desperate tirade regardless of Gladio’s involvement. “It was like— I don’t even  _ know.  _ His face fell and then he was up and out of the room before I could even  _ explain _ and now he’s never gonna want to speak to me again. I was just. I’ve been meaning to bring it up, but there’s barely any time for us to see each other these days and we’re always busy and then Evan was  _ here  _ and I agreed to meet with him before I’d even thought about it and now I’m in this mess and I’m freaking out!”

Gladio grumbles and marks his page before snapping the book shut. “Maybe instead of wearing a hole in my floor you should actually  _ try _ to explain yourself? He’s obviously got the wrong end of the stick. Yeah, because you didn’t explain yourself for shit, but if he knew the whole story maybe he wouldn’t be sobbing his eyes out in his room.”

Noctis pales. “Do you think that’s what he’s doing?”

Gladio snorts. “Nah, he’s down in the training room throwing daggers at poor, defenceless sparring dummies. They’ve probably got your face taped onto them though.”

“Shut up,” Noctis snaps. “That’s not helpful.”

“Wasn’t trying to be.”

“Well,  _ can _ you?!” Noctis resumes pacing and Gladio resists the urge to throw the book at his King’s head. It would be unbecoming of the King’s Shield to maim his own Majesty. As much as he wants to. “I need to fix this quick. I need to apologise and make this right.”

“Yep. So go do it.”

Noctis stops in his tracks and turns to Gladio with a mournful expression. “Will you help me?”

“How, exactly?”

“Come with me and stand between me and Ignis’ daggers.”

“Ooh, that’s a hard no.  _ You _ got yourself into this mess,  _ you _ get yourself out.”

Noctis groans and throws himself face down onto the couch. It should be disconcerting to see a member of the royal family conduct himself so, but Noctis  _ is  _ technically missing ten years of growing up, so Gladio allows it and doesn’t shove Noctis onto the floor like he wants to. 

“Look,  _ Majesty, _ ” Gladio says tersely, “this isn’t gonna get any better until you explain yourself. So quit moping and go  _ do that.  _ Every minute you waste here is another minute Ignis is plotting your murder, and he knows exactly how to do it and not get caught.”

“I don’t even know why I came to you,” Noctis mumbles into the sofa cushions. “You suck.”

Gladio is only human. He gives into the overwhelming urge to belt Noctis across the back of the head with his book. There’s a satisfying thud and yelp as it connects. “ _ Bite _ me, your Grace.”

  
  
  
  


The training room is empty, save for Ignis and his weapons. They’ve not gotten to a place yet where any new Crownsguard recruits need training up, so the only people to use this room currently are Gladio for when he wants to work out, and Ignis when he wants to clear his head. 

It’s doing wonders for him, as it stands. He contorts his body through rigorous poses and form drills until there’s a light sheen of sweat on his body and his mind is pleasantly blank, focused only on the next move in each set, the reassuringly cool weight of his polearm in his hands. 

Ignis spins the weapons above his head, brings the butt of the shaft down hard onto the training room floor with an echoing crack. He allows himself a few brief seconds to catch his breath before dispelling the weapon and summoning forth his daggers. Exhaustion creeps in at the edges of his thoughts but he banishes it through sheer willpower alone. He barely slept the previous night. He’s unaccustomed to sleeping alone these days, but—

No. 

Not that. Drills only.  _ Focus.  _

Ignis lifts his daggers into a ready stance, tightens his grip on the hilt, listens to the magic inside them sing softly in his grasp. He exhales slowly, then eases into his next set of drills. 

His feet move effortlessly, confidently, and he is proud - rightly so - of his form and focus. It’s borne of more than just training, it’s the fruits of true combat, fight or die survival, and he is  _ proud _ that he has survived. He flips easily, body twisting as he catches the daggers midair and lands lightly on his feet, ready and balanced like a charging coeurl. Scarred he is, but there is nothing clumsy about him anymore. He has finesse and he is allowed, he feels, to be a touch vain about it. 

He dispels his daggers with barry a thought and loves over to the bench he left a towel and water bottle on. It’s a few hearty gulps later that his ears pick up the sound of a latch clicking back, and the training room door’s soft whisper against the floor as it opens. 

“Gladio, is that you?”

“Um.”

Ignis stills. Both the voice and the uneven gate give him away before he even has to identify himself. 

“Your Majesty,” Ignis says stiffly, turning toward where he knows Noctis is standing in the doorway and offering a respectful bow. “Do you need my assistance?”

“Come on, Iggy, don’t be like that…”

“Oh, of course.” Ignis straightens and allows a small amount of bitterness to deep into his tone. “It’s no longer to be my place to assist you, is it?”

Noctis’ breath catches and Ignis is appalled at how that makes him fee vindicated. This is  _ not  _ who Ignis is. He would never  _ ever  _ have allowed himself to be the cause of pain for Noctis, no matter how slight, but he himself is hurting, and the desire to lash out is strong. 

“I guess I deserved that,” Noctis says dully. “Look, I messed up  _ real  _ bad. I know you’re angry, but I’d like the chance to explain, if you’ll let me.”

Ignis wants to refuse. He wants to say no and retreat into solitude to nurse his grudge like a wounded animal. But barely even a full day bereft of Noctis’ closeness and company is causing Ignis more hurt than anything. They’ve been inseparable since the light returned and Ignis wants them to be again. 

“I… suppose,” Ignis finally grits out and Noctis heaves a heavy sigh of relief. 

“ _ Thank you, _ ” he says, sincerity ringing through his words. Footsteps signal his approach until there’s a shadow over the remnants of Ignis’ vision in the vague shape of his King. 

“Let me get it all out before you excoriate me, okay?”

Ignis’ eyebrows raise. “Pulling out the big vocabulary are we?”

“ _ Ignis, _ ” Noctis stresses. “You said you’d hear me out.”

“Fine, fine. The floor is yours, as it were.”

“Thanks.” Noctis inhales deeply. “So. Okay. You know we’ve been doing great with all the rebuilding work and stuff and it’s been good. But a couple of folks from Fenestala had nowhere else to go so they’ve come here. And I reached out to Evan because he was Ravus’ retainer and he’s got the training and I thought he could pick up some of  _ your  _ duties because… Because… Hell, Ignis I don’t want you  _ serving  _ me.”

Oh. 

That’s. 

_ Oh.  _

“I see,” Ignis says slowly. “And… Just so I know, that’s because—“

“Because I  _ love  _ you,” Noctis exclaims somewhat helplessly. “It’s easier for Gladio because he’s  _ always  _ been my Shield. But you and I grew up together, you were my friend and then when we— When I fell in love with you, I struggled so hard with the line between personal and duty and I couldn’t reconcile the two in my head. I value your work, I do, and there’s so much I can’t do without you, but it’s not— It doesn’t feel right to have you  _ serve  _ me as well. Yeah, sure, you’ll always be the Hand of the King, no one could ever compare, but for the more menial stuff, I was hoping to get you to pass it off to someone else.”

“Noctis,” Ignis begins and then doesn’t continue because words just won’t do. He pulls Noctis into a tight embrace and it feels so  _ right _ after the awful distance and Noctis is shaking in his arms, stressed and worked up and Ignis should really know by now that Noctis struggles with his words, but at least he finally  _ understands.  _

“I know I should’ve talked to you first,” Noctis mumbles into Ignis’ shoulder. “But I never found the time or—“

“Hush, dear heart,” Ignis murmurs, holding him all the tighter. “It’s alright. I understand now.” 

And he does and it’s… Sweet. Sweet of Noctis to care so much for Ignis’ duties and his heart but that was never meant to fall to Noctis to feel responsible for. Ignis has always been able to distinguish between duty and love and it’s easy for him because he has loved Noctis all his life. There is no duty for Ignis without love. He will always be Noctis’ right hand, always be there to serve him because Ignis  _ wants  _ to be there. 

“It’s no hardship for me to serve you  _ and  _ to love you,” Ignis says, pulling back to press a soft kiss to Noctis’ forehead. “It’s always been a pleasure. Vegetable controversy aside.”

Noctis huffs a laugh and sniffs hard. “I’m glad you understand. But you can’t keep picking up after me forever. It doesn’t suit your station.”

That has Ignis frowning. “Noctis, it’s my—“

“Not for the Royal Consort, anyway.”

Ignis freezes. Everything turns to static, the blood in his veins hitting a dead stop and his entire mental capacity falls to zero in a split second. No thoughts manage to form or fray except those two words that ring through his head like the clanging of a bell, clear and ringing and impossible to ignore. 

_ Royal… Consort? _

“That.” Ignis pauses, swallows, tries again. “Noct, that may be the  _ worst  _ timed proposal in the history of the world.”

“Yup,” Noctis says happily. “I’m owning it; my terrible inability to say things. But…” His voice shifts upwards, hopeful. “Will you? It’s always been you, Iggy. And it’s about time I did something about it, don’t you thi—“

He’s cut off by the force of Ignis’ exuberant lips against his own, fingers curling into the lapels of his jacket to yank him forward. A decade ago Ignis would never have been so forward. Hell, a decade ago none of this would have been possible. Ignis has learned a good few lessons about making the most of things while he has the opportunity. He won’t see anymore pass him by while he sits idle and inactive. 

“Yes,” he breathes against Noct’s mouth, leaning his whole body into him as his King pulls him in tight. “I will.”

Noctis returns the kiss with equal enthusiasm, excitement sending jitters through his body and Ignis thinks for a wild moment that he might foolishly attempt to pick him up and swing him around, sending them both inevitably to the floor. 

“I love you,” Noct says in a rush, kissing Ignis all over his face. “I’m sorry I fucked this up.”

“No more apologies,” Ignis replies, hands finding their way into Noct’s soft hair, still long enough that he wears it in a modest half-ponytail when in public and Ignis adores it like he adores everything else about him. “All is well. All is well.”

“Thank god,” Noctis sighs, still holding Ignis securely against his body. “That was the most nerve-wracking twelve hours of my  _ life _ , bar none.”

Ignis smiles fondly, steals one more kiss before disentangling himself from Noct’s embrace. “Let us relocate. I’m in need of a shower and the training room is not the best place for what will follow.”

“Oh?” Noctis sounds intrigued. 

“Well, I’m hardly going to pass over the chance to celebrate with you,” Ignis scoffs, tugging Noctis towards the door. “I suddenly find myself engaged to the King, no less, and I fear the mats will give us terrible friction burns if we stay here.”

“Lead on,” Noct says, and Ignis can hear the huge smile in his voice. 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> I’m @ProneToRelapse on Twitter, come say hi!


End file.
